


Thicker Than Water

by nyromes



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bottom Enjolras, Childhood Memories, Co-dependence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masochist Enjolras, Masochist Grantaire, Murder, No Major Character Death, Pain Kink, Painplay, Sadist Enjolras, Scars, Serial Killer Enjolras, Sibling Incest, Smut, Top Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 05:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyromes/pseuds/nyromes
Summary: Grantaire's never been scared of Enjolras or what he might be capable of. He’s long since come to terms with the fact that he’d die at his little brother’s hands, gladly, if that was what the blond wanted.





	

Grantaire still remembers the day his parents brought his little brother home from the hospital. He was three years old at the time. It’s one of his earliest memories.

He remembers screaming at his mother because his brother was crying and she wouldn’t let him hold the baby for fear he would drop it. With hindsight, screaming at her probably wasn’t the best way to convince her otherwise, but you don't think that far when you're just a kid and all you know is that you could comfort your little brother if only they’d let you.

There aren’t that many memories for the couple of years that followed. Just photographs of him and Enjolras playing on the carpet, the little one knocking down the elder’s Lego towers or the two of them drawing squiggly doodles with crayons, the blond toddler’s curly angel hair already long enough to fall into his face.

There’s a picture of them toying in the grass in a park, Enjolras about four years old, and he’s smiling down at Grantaire from where he’s lying on his older brother’s chest. Just a few minutes before, Grantaire had caught a frog that had tried to make its way to the nearby pond, and Enjolras had squealed in delight when Grantaire had placed the small animal in the little one’s hands.

They’d been kneeling in the dirt, and the blond’s clumsy, young fingers had closed tighter around the struggling limbs of the frog until Grantaire felt some kind of panic rise in his throat and told him to loosen his grip so as not to hurt the little thing. Enjolras’ eyes had grown thoughtful for a moment, his fingers still clutching the squirming frog. Then he’d set the animal down in the grass, both boys watching curiously as its body heaved a little and it regained its bearings before heading in long jumps toward its original destination.

Grantaire doesn't need the picture their parents took that day to remember the incident, but it still makes him smile to see the old, blurry print of it on his bedside table.

What Grantaire remembers most vividly about their childhood, though, is Enjolras’ fifth birthday. Their mother had invited some of the neighbours’ kids, although none of them were friends with either Enjolras or Grantaire, and she’d made a cake for him, with white chocolate frosting and layers of strawberry cream. On top of the cake, of course, she’d put five red-white candles for Enjolras to blow out.

But the cake is not why Grantaire remembers that day so clearly. He remembers the look on his brother’s face, fascinated and focused, and the way his eyes lit up the moment their dad lit the candles on the cake. The younger boy didn’t seem to pay attention to any of his guests as they sang for him, his gaze instead fixed on the candles. His lips twitched curiously. Then he reached out, and Grantaire can still see the boy’s slender fingers hovering barely above the flames until their mother rushed forward with a cry, pulling the little one away from the cake.

“Hurts,” Enjolras said, smiling brightly, and their parents were too busy assessing the damage done to his fingertips to notice the way Enjolras' eyes sought the gaze of his brother. And Grantaire smiled back, feeling the need to reassure him even as his stomach churned and his chest felt tight.

Enjolras didn’t complain about the band-aid their parents made him wear for the next few days, just as he didn’t complain about the cast he had to wear for weeks when he broke his arm. And neither did Grantaire when the blond’s injuries made him depend on the elder’s help, because Enjolras would peck Grantaire's cheek in thanks when Grantaire helped him into his clothes, or lean his head back into Grantaire’s touch when the older boy did his hair.

Despite the broken bones, the bruises and scratches Enjolras sustained over the course of the following years, Grantaire only ever saw him cry when their parents were already asleep and the brothers were lying in their beds, heavy rain drumming against the windows and flashes of lightning making the little boy tremble even before the thunder could rip through the dark.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire whispered. He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, not wanting to scare him. The younger boy nodded faintly and rolled onto his side, letting Grantaire crawl under the covers beside him to hold him close, Enjolras’ back pressed against the elder's chest.

“It’s just rain,” Grantaire soothed, “It can’t hurt you.”

And Enjolras smiled, even as the tears left trails on his cheeks.

Things haven’t changed all that much.

It was a week after the blond’s thirteenth birthday that Grantaire found him kneeling in the garden, bent over the lifeless form of a blackbird. His face was pale, like the colour had fled from his cheeks, and his eyes were fixed on the dead bird in the grass. He didn’t react when Grantaire knelt down next to him and took Enjolras’ hand in his, looking at the stark red smears that stained the younger boy’s palms.

Grantaire swallowed. “Did- Did you…?” He didn’t know how to finish his sentence.

Enjolras shook his head. “I didn’t- I… I just-” He closed his eyes, took a breath. “The cat… She was playing with it when it was still… alive. Then she lost interest and she dropped it. It was still breathing and it tried to fly but it was bleeding and in pain and I was… I- I broke its neck.”

He fell silent, and Grantaire bit his lip. He was still holding his brother’s hand.

“I wanted- It was hurting…”

The dark-haired boy nodded. “It’s okay… It’s probably better this way. ’T was the right decision…” He wasn’t really sure if it was, but it seemed to comfort Enjolras, if only a little. The younger boy was upsettingly silent.

That night, after their parents had gone to bed, it was Enjolras who clambered into his brother’s bed and settled between him and the wall, carefully pulling his legs up to his chest so as not to wake the other boy from his sleep. Grantaire noticed either way.

“Can’t sleep?”

The blond shook his head. The room was quiet.

“Today…” Enjolras began eventually, “The bird today… I didn’t- I didn’t kill it out of pity.”

Grantaire frowned, pushing himself up a little to lean against the headboard. “Then why?”

Enjolras stared down at his lap, at his hands, pressing a thumb into the palm of his other hand.

“Curiosity.”

He wasn’t sure, but Grantaire felt like he knew what his brother was trying to say.

“Enj-” he encouraged.

“I just wanted to know what it’d feel like… And then it was in my hands and it was so vulnerable and I couldn’t-” He trailed off, still avoiding the older boy’s gaze. “I watched it struggle and suffer and then it was dying in my hands and I snapped its neck because I wanted to be the one in control.”

Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to say anything when Enjolras’ eyes finally met his.

“I know it’s wrong but it felt so good and I’m scared… I’m so fucking scared it will happen again.”

His voice failed him, and this more than anything made Grantaire’s heart feel like it was crumbling into ash.

“How long- How long have you wanted to do this?”

“I don’t know. For as long as I can remember… It’s just always been at the back of my mind.”

Grantaire nodded and ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t want Enjolras to sense his anxiety. The darkness around them helped.

He lifted his covers, making some room between himself and the wall.

“Come ’ere,” he whispered, and the younger boy looked hesitant at first, but then he swallowed, lying down by Grantaire’s side. His blond curls tickled the skin of Grantaire’s neck when the older boy wrapped his arms around the younger one’s frame. Nervous fingers scratched at Grantaire’s chest.

“This part of me,” Enjolras said, “I don’t wanna let that define me.”

His hand slid up to Grantaire’s neck, his fingertips brushing against the older boy’s jaw. Slowly, cautiously, the blond raised his head, his touch painfully gentle as he turned his brother’s face to meet his gaze.

They were so close now, their noses brushing together, and Grantaire stopped breathing, even as he could feel Enjolras’s shaky breaths against his skin. Soft fingertips curled into the older boy’s hair, making him gasp, and then his heart skipped a beat as Enjolras leaned in and brought their lips together in a careful kiss.

“I’m glad you’re here,” The younger one whispered, pressing his forehead against Grantaire’s. “I don’t want this to get the better of me…”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile, and Enjolras smiled back before settling back down on the older boy’s shoulder.

Holding him close, Grantaire placed a kiss to the top of the blond’s head.

“We’ll figure something out.”

* * *

Today, when Grantaire thinks of that day, it’s with a smile on his lips that he can’t quite control. Not that he wants to. They’ve come a long way since then, and Grantaire finds they’ve managed quite well.

He’s in the kitchen, clearing out the dishwasher, and Enjolras should be back soon. The street outside is submerged in darkness, except for the sparsely illuminated circles of light under the streetlamps. When Enjolras left, the sun had just set. It’s been almost three hours since then, and Grantaire knows that Enjolras' victim must be dead by now.

_Jaques M. Bidon: 46, Corporate Manager, Corrupt, Right-Wing Extremist, Homophobe, No Immediate Relatives._

One of the names on Enjolras’ list.

In the end, though, it was Grantaire’s choice that had sealed his fate. As always, Enjolras had left it to him to make the final decision, just as he talks to Grantaire about the weapon and modus operandi. They never commit the same crime twice. There’s no pattern, no personal, emotional connection that could be traced back to either of them.

Grantaire moves a hand to his upper arm, kneading the thick scar tissue there. It stretches from his shoulder all the way down to his elbow, a broad, dark red web of charred flesh that had taken almost three months to heal up. It still aches sometimes, reminding the dark-haired man of its presence and teasing an affectionate smile to his lips.

Of all the marks Enjolras has left on his body so far, the burn on his arm is the largest. Still, there’s hardly a part of Grantaire that’s unscathed, and there’s not a single scar he didn’t agree to. They’re the only thing about his body that he loves without reservation.

There are no footsteps on the stairs outside before Grantaire hears the soft knocks on the door and his face lights up. He knows he’ll never get rid of the mixture of relief, anxiety and excitement that fills him in moments like this, but it all falls away when he opens the door and sees his brother’s bright blue eyes. It makes his heart skip a beat.

He can’t help but reach out and pull his little brother into his arms as soon as the door’s locked behind them. Enjolras goes readily, leaning in to brush his lips over Grantaire’s in a gentle kiss, and Grantaire’s face breaks into a smile at the feel of the familiar, warm body pressed against his. It’s like a weight has been lifted from his ribcage.

“I’m fine,” the blond reassures, reading the questions in the other man’s eyes, “No incidents to speak of.”

“Had fun, then?”

Enjolras smiles wickedly. “So much fun.”

He hooks his fingers into his brother’s waistband, dragging him away from the door and towards their bedroom, both of them grinning against each other’s lips as they stumble through the apartment. Grantaire can feel Enjolras’ heart racing beneath his palm, his pulse revved up by the adrenaline in his veins. It’ll take a while for Grantaire to help him come down, but he’s more than willing to let Enjolras take the reins for now, to let himself be pulled down onto the bed between the younger one’s legs.

Enjolras rakes his fingers through Grantaire’s dark hair. “Would have been more fun with you there.”

His eyes are glowing, their faces so close to each other they’re sharing the same air.

“It would’ve been a mess,” Grantaire chuckles, “We would have probably got caught before he was even dead. You really think you would’ve been able to focus?”

Enjolras shrugs, then leans up to catch Grantaire’s bottom lip between his teeth. His thighs wrap around his brother’s hips, bringing them even closer together.

“Don’t know. We’ve never tried…”

Grantaire’s sweatpants are starting to feel uncomfortable, the friction of Enjolras’ clothed erection pressing up into his crotch making it hard not to give in and just grind down, letting his little brother rut against his hip until they come in their pants like fucking teenagers.

The thought of the police catching them, quite literally red-handed, fucking against a wall splattered with the brains and blood of Enjolras’ last victim is not exactly helping either.

Enjolras watches, a little breathless, when Grantaire sits back on his heels and pulls his t-shirt over his head, revealing his toned chest. He reaches out to run his hand over the thin, parallel burn scars on the older man’s side, but Grantaire’s faster, popping the button of Enjolras’ black jeans with a simple flick of his wrist before tugging them down and off his legs together with his briefs.

He bends back down once they’re both naked.

“So much better,” Enjolras says. His hand slides into his brother’s hair, his head falling back onto the bed with a soft moan as Grantaire kisses his way down his chest. His breath is hot on Enjolras’ skin, and the blond arches his back just to feel Grantaire’s strong hands on his waist, pushing him back down. He whimpers.

“Feels good.”

Grantaire grins. “Will you be able to lie still?”

“Yeah.”

Grantaire places his hand on the blond’s cock, giving him a few slow strokes. His lips brush over the tip of his length. “You sure?”

“Y-Yes- Fuck, Taire, don’t- don’t tease…”

The older man chuckles and pulls away, causing Enjolras to groan in frustration.

“I’m just getting the lube,” Grantaire explains. He holds up the small bottle they keep on the nightstand. Then he lays back down between his brother’s legs, tracing the pad of his thumb across his brother’s rim. It clenches beautifully when he presses the tip of his tongue inside, and Enjolras’s thighs twitch, even as his mouth falls open with a cry.

“I don’t- I don’t need much prep,” Enjolras mutters, “Wanna feel you.”

“You’re really tight, Enj-”

“Don’t care… Want it to hurt.”

Grantaire smiles, pouring a drop of lube onto his finger before pressing the tip of it past the first ring of muscles. Enjolras tenses up, his hands gripping the sheets as he tries to lie still.

“Taire, move, please-”

“You need to relax, Enj, you’re so wired I can’t even get my finger in.”

He places a hand on the blond’s stomach, gently rubbing his waist. Enjolras huffs indignantly, but he takes a few moments to calm down and bring his breathing under control, the tension in his body slowly letting up.

Grantaire presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh as he pushes his finger deeper into his brother’s body, not really stretching him, but making sure to spread the lube enough to make it easier for them later. Enjolras gasps when his fingertip grazes his prostate, but Grantaire’s quick to pull away, slipping his finger free and tapping Enjolras’ thigh.

“Get on your knees,” he orders, his voice firm but gentle. He kneels in the middle of the bed, facing Enjolras.

He’s reaching for the lube again when Enjolras climbs into his lap, pressing his lips to Grantaire’s.

“I’ll be fine, Taire, just get on with it already, I’m not gonna break.”

Grantaire knows he’s right, he knows better than anyone that Enjolras is much stronger than he looks. But it’s easy to forget sometimes when his waist is so small under Grantaire’s hands that it feels like he could just break his ribs with a simple squeeze. He looks so fragile sometimes, so painfully innocent, that it’s hard to remember that he killed his first victim when he was barely sixteen.

He meets the blond’s eyes, looking for reassurance, then nods.

Enjolras grins, like he always does when he gets his way, and he leans back in for another kiss, raking his nails down the sides of Grantaire’s neck.

They both gasp when Enjolras moves his hips, Grantaire’s cock catching on his rim, and Enjolras breaks away, reaching down to guide the tip of Grantaire’s length to his entrance. He bites his lip when Grantaire pushes inside, his eyes closed as his head falls back in pain, and Grantaire can feel the blond’s thighs start to tremble again.

“How’s it feel?” Grantaire asks. He keeps his eyes fixed on Enjolras, watching him wince.

“Feels great.” He looks down at Grantaire, his pupils dark and glazed over. “Hurts so good…”

He runs his hands down the older man’s chest. His fingertips trail across the scars that mar the otherwise pale skin, moving from the bruises on his waist up to the carved “ _E_ ” over his heart. He digs his nails into the scratch marks on Grantaire’s shoulder as he pushes his hips down determinedly, sinking down until he’s sitting flush in Grantaire’s lap. His eyes never break from Grantaire’s even as they lose focus, his body trying to adjusting to his brother’s girth.

“Fuck, Taire, _please_ \- Move-”

He’s wound up, like he always is after a kill, eager and desperate to grind down and feel his brother’s length slam into him, and he whines, exasperated, when Grantaire doesn’t let him. It’s not like Grantaire’s not aware of his frustration, but he’s known his little brother all his life and he knows Enjolras needs his help sometimes coming down from his high. So he wraps his arms tighter around the younger man’s waist and places his hands firmly on Enjolras' back, allowing himself to feel the blond’s muscles shift and tighten under his palms as he forces the jerks of his brother’s hips to a stop.

Enjolras’ head drops to his shoulder, a soft “thanks” breaking from his lips. Grantaire presses a kiss to the top of his head, smiling as he takes in the familiar scent of his little brother’s hair.

He waits quietly, just holding Enjolras to his chest for several minutes, until the younger man stops trembling, going lax in his arms. It’s only when the blond’s breath catches in his throat and he whispers “please” that Grantaire starts moving, lifting his brother's hips just a little before bringing him back down into his lap.

It’s slow, torturously, painfully slow, but Grantaire needs this to last, just to know that they’re both here, that they’re both okay.

All his life, he’s never been scared of Enjolras, or what he might be capable of. He’s long since come to terms with the fact that he’d die at his brother’s side, _die at his hands_ , gladly, if that was what the blond wanted. But if they made a mistake and something happened to Enjolras, if he was caught and sentenced, Grantaire knows it would mean the end for both of them. There is no way they’d let him see his brother ever again.

So he draws him closer now, skin to skin, their chests pressed together, and he feels the warmth radiating from Enjolras, hears the choked sobs and whines as he pushes up into his body, the tip of his cock dragging over the younger one’s prostate with almost every thrust.

“Tell me about him,” he whispers, snaking a hand between their stomachs and curling his hand around Enjolras’ cock.

Enjolras gasps, his fingers gripping Grantaire’s curly brown hair.

“He was- so scared… Actually pissed himself when I tied him to his office chair.”

He huffs a laugh, making Grantaire smile in return.

“Taire, please, just- Harder, please… Fuck-”

Grantaire smirks and wipes the flat of his thumb over the tip of Enjolras’ cock, gathering the precome that’s slowly leaking from his slit.

“Go on.”

“He- He begged me not to kill him. Even offered me money…” He grins, leaning down to press their foreheads together. His lips meet his brother’s in an open-mouthed kiss as Grantaire picks up the pace, snapping his hips up with just enough force to make the younger one moan against his lips.

“I watched his eyes when I slit his throat. Watched him bleed… _Fuck_ \- Taire… It- it was almost five minutes until he stopped struggling… There was so much blood.” He licks his lips. “Wanted to taste it so bad.”

“You didn’t…”

Enjolras shakes his head. “You know I, _ah_ , I wouldn’t- Wouldn’t risk this… Love you too much, Taire, _Fuck_ -”

Grantaire smiles. “Love you, too.” He tilts his head to the side, baring his neck.

He’s close and he can tell from the way Enjolras’ cock twitches in his hand that his brother is, too.

“Go ahead, it’s okay… I know you want to.”

Enjolras’ eyes light up, but he waits for Grantaire to nod reassuringly before he bends down and places a kiss to the side of Grantaire’s throat. He licks at the spot between shoulder and neck, and Grantaire can feel the way his heart’s beating faster now every time his brother’s breath teases over the curve of his neck.

It hurts when Enjolras finally sinks his teeth into his skin, but Grantaire barely moves, simply biting his lip and dropping his head to the blond’s shoulder, allowing his brother to lap at the trickles of warm, sticky blood running down his throat.

Years ago, after Enjolras’ first kill, when he still loathed himself for the thoughts he’d tried to suppress all his life, he sometimes asked Grantaire to tell him to stop. He’d hold the edge of a knife to Grantaire’s chest and press down, cutting deeper with every inch the blade carved into his skin, and he’d beg Grantaire to tell him to stop when the pain got too much because he needed to know that he was still in control.

He still battles his demons at times, but he always stops when Grantaire asks him to.

Tonight, though, Grantaire’s happy to let him nip at his neck, drawing as much blood as he likes, because they’re both a little desperate right now, and Grantaire doubts Enjolras would bite deep enough to puncture his carotid arteries, at least today.

He thrusts up into his brother, taking the blond by surprise and hearing him gasp against his throat, before he feels him grind down, circling his hips and riding Grantaire as fast as he can without taking his lips off the still bleeding bitemark. His movements falter seconds later, his muscles tensing up as he quivers in Grantaire’s arms, his breath shaking.

“Fuck, Enj- You’re amazing.”

Grantaire runs a hand through his brother’s hair. He feels lightheaded when Enjolras at last breaks away, but he’s not sure whether it’s because of the blood loss or the tight, wet heat of his brother’s body around his cock, or just the sight of the one person he’s loved all his life looking at him with a smile that is cruel and gorgeous and loving at the same time.

There’s blood smeared on Enjolras’ chin and his lips, and Grantaire can’t believe how incredibly beautiful he looks. The Archangel of Death. Grantaire chuckles. A stunning personification of the title given to Enjolras’ most admired revolutionary.

He reaches down to close his hand around his brother’s cock, watching him squirm and whimper with oversensitivity when he tightens his grip and strokes him slowly, running his fingers through the ropes of come before bringing them up to his mouth. Enjolras’ gaze is still blurry, strands of sweaty, blond hair falling into his face, but his eyes are glued to his brother’s mouth as the dark-haired man closes his lips around the tips of his fingers and licks them clean before curling a hand into the blond’s hair and pulling him in for a kiss.

The younger one gasps when Grantaire continues to thrust into him despite of how sensitive he is, and he parts his lips, allowing Grantaire’s tongue to push inside, kissing him with the same, rough intensity as the movements of his hips.

Grantaire can still taste Enjolras’ come on his lips, but it’s soon topped by the taste of his own blood as his tongue meets with Enjolras’, his brother’s broken moans hot and heady in his ears.

“Enj, I’m- I’m close, please…”

The blond nods, bringing their lips together for another kiss before leaning in to mouth at Grantaire’s ear, his hands travelling to the scars he left on his brother’s skin, palms coming to rest on his arm and over his heart.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, his nails digging into the marred flesh beneath his touch, “So much…”

“Enj-” Grantaire groans as he feels Enjolras push down to meet his thrusts, deliberately clenching down on his cock and tightening his walls around his brother’s length. “Enjolras...”

His hips stutter and he grips the blond’s waist, bringing him down and burying his cock deep inside him as he feels the force of his climax wash over him.

Enjolras is grinning against his neck, riding him through his orgasm until Grantaire’s grip on his waist becomes slack, his hands sliding up to the back of the blond’s neck instead. They’re still holding on to each other, neither of them ready to let go just yet.

This connection they have, it’s more than love.

Minutes pass before Grantaire moves them, carefully, so as not to unbalance his brother, lying down until he’s flat on his back with his head propped up by a pillow and the weight of Enjolras on top of him. It’s a bit of a struggle to pull the sheets up and over them, but Grantaire manages to tuck them both in after a bit of shuffling and tugging. Enjolras is still smiling into the crook of his neck, nipping at the bitemark and running his tongue over the small drops of blood that still rise to the surface.

In a few hours, a secretary or office employee will walk into the 700-square-feet office to find the dead body of their former boss. The cops will pull up in front of the corporate building soon after to shut the crime scene off. They will search for evidence, or witnesses, but they won’t find anything that could lead them to Enjolras.

The knowledge makes Grantaire wrap his arms even tighter around his brother. He can’t help but let a smile take over his face.

He trails a hand down the younger man’s back, meeting the blond’s crazy blue eyes, and Enjolras is smiling down at him from his place on Grantaire’s chest like the four-year-old boy in the picture on their nightstand.

 

 


End file.
